Drowning
by JBS-Forever
Summary: It's one in the morning and he's not sure where he is. (one-shot)
**Just another little one-shot brought to you in the early morning hours because I still can't sleep. It's 3:30 am this time, though, so I feel like I'm winning some kind of contest the later I stay up.**

 **I swear that once upon a time someone left me a comment on one of my stories asking me to write something where Ponyboy gets drunk and ends up at Johnny's grave. I could be mistaken, but regardless of what the comment really said, my memory of it inspired me to write this. So here's to you, person who may or may not exist!**

 **Again, it's really early and this isn't edited very well because my brain is mush, so please ignore all mistakes.**

 **Umm...**

 **Enjoy?**

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It's one in the morning and he's not sure where he is.

He knows not to do this. He hasn't done it in a long time. Not since before everything happened. Not since that night Darry hit him and he ran and ran and didn't look back.

He knows Darry is probably wearing a hole into the carpet worrying about him. He should call, maybe. At least let Sodapop know he's okay. But he's not sure he could find a phone if he wanted to. He's not sure where he is, or where he came from, or where he'll go. Everything is blurry and moving too fast and too slow and his vision is dancing in front of him to a song he can't hear. He's drunk. So incredibly drunk that Darry would kill him if he went home like this. So he decides not to go home at all. Except he can't tell which is worse: Death by worry, or death by being ridiculously dumb.

It's cold outside. At least, it should be. He was shivering earlier in the night, but he's not now, and that isn't a good sign. He knows that, he does, he just can't remember why. He doesn't bother to try. He just stumbles along, looking for something familiar, for something that feels right, for something to _stand still, damn it._ If the world keeps tilting under his feet, he knows he's going to go down with it. And he's scared that if he does he'll never get back up again.

It's so hard for him to stand. That's all he's been doing lately. Holding himself up on everything and everyone he can touch. Darry told him you don't stop living just because someone died. And he's trying. God, he's trying. But it's so hard. One wrong step and he'll fall and fall and never come back.

He swallows and liquid burns his throat. It's raining. Is it? No. He's drowning. He's back in the park, at the fountain, and the Socs are pushing him under the water. Panic floods his system. He struggles and fights and screams and chokes. He's drowning. He's drowning and no one can hear him. He's drowning and no one will save him this time.

A sudden pain flares in his leg. He blinks and he can breathe again. His vision clears around him. He's not at the park. He's not drowning. It's not raining. He's _crying_. He's crying and it's killing him and no one can hear.

He looks down at his aching limb and he realizes where he is now. He's in the cemetery. He must have kicked a headstone. The one by his foot seems to be the likely suspect, and he curses it for good measure because he's got nothing else to blame.

But then he sees the name on it and he has to blink again. _**Johnny Cade**_ _._ It's there, carved into the stone. But it's not possible. Johnny doesn't have a headstone. They hadn't buried him with one.

He never asked Johnny's parents why. He didn't think it was necessary. They never cared for him. When he died, they showed up like they were supposed to, looked sad at all the right times, fooled all the right people. He knew, though. He knew the truth. He knew they went home and they argued about the stupid things they argued about and when they woke up the next morning and went to yell at Johnny he wasn't there, so they yelled at each other instead and that was it.

That was it.

That was it?

No, that can't be it. That can't be right.

Johnny is more than just an unmarked grave. How can no one care? How can no one see that _he_ cares? How can no one see they're dying?

He sinks to his knees. The headstone isn't Johnny's anymore. Nothing is Johnny's anymore.

"Oh God," he says. "Oh God." And he's drowning again, pushing his way to reach the top of the water, clawing through grass and dirt and trying to find Johnny because Johnny is the only one who pulled him out before. The only one who cared that he cared. And what does he get? An unmarked grave? Parents who move on without him? A world that moves on without him?

He can't. He won't. He won't move on without him. He's dying without him. Struggling and fighting and screaming and choking. Breathing in water. Drowning. God, he can't go on. He can't.

"Ponyboy?"

Hands wrap around him and pull him up. He fight against them, too, because that's all he does lately even when he doesn't want to.

"Calm down. It's okay. It's okay." He recognizes the voice, but he can't place it. It feels like a dream to him now. "Glory, Pone. Are you drunk?"

"Sodapop?" he asks.

"Yeah," Soda says. "How much did you drink?"

He stops fighting long enough to think about it. Is he drunk? He doesn't remember. All he remembers is water.

"I'm drowning," he says, clutching Soda's arm to anchor himself before he slips back under. "Soda."

"You're not drowning, kiddo. You're just drunk. Come on. Can you stand?"

"No." He pushes away from Soda again. His brother wants to leave. Wants to take him away. But he can't leave now. He can't. "No. Please. I-I have to – "

"You have to what?"

"I have to find him," he whispers. He looks at his dirty hands in the glow of the moonlight.

"Who?"

"Johnny," he says. "I have to find Johnny."

Soda is quiet a long moment. "Pone, let's go. You can find him tomorrow, all right?"

"No." He shakes his head. He can't see Soda's face, but he doesn't have to. He knows him better than anyone in the world. "I have to find him now."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to lose him forever," he says, and can't Soda see he's drowning? Can't he hear him yelling for help under the water? _Save me. Save me._

"You're not going to lose him. He will always be with you. You know that, kiddo. He's right there with mom and dad and Dally. They'll never be gone. Not really."

His chest rumbles and shakes. Soda moves toward him again, but stops short like he's afraid to touch him. There's a strange sound echoing in the air. He wonders if Soda can hear it, figures he must be able to because his body is unusually tense.

"Ponyboy," Soda says. _Begs_. "Just relax. We'll come back tomorrow when the sun is out. We'll bring Johnny some flowers. Would you like that? We can visit mom and dad, too."

The sound gets louder and louder until he realizes it's coming from himself. He's sobbing. He's sobbing and drowning and choking and Soda is trying to reach him and pull him out.

 _Save me._

"Oh God." He reaches for Soda and feels his brother pull him into his arms, ripping him from the water, dragging his head up where he can breathe. He clutches onto him so hard his fingers ache.

"It's okay," Soda says, gently. "It's okay. You're okay. It's okay."

"I'm drowning, Soda," he cries. "All the time. I can't do this. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. Me and Darry are right here with you. We're not going to let you drown, Pone. We've got you, okay? We've got you."

He closes his eyes and scrambles to keep his hold on Soda. "How can he mean nothing?" he whispers.

"Who?"

"Johnny."

"Oh, kiddo." Soda sighs. "He's not nothing. He was never nothing."

"I know," he says. And he does, somewhere deep inside. But all he has now is an unmarked grave and a fountain full of water and no one to blame but himself. "I know."

He's trying.


End file.
